Inane
by kaibasgirlx
Summary: [slight AU] She is borne in his image.
1. I Obsession

**Dedicated to: TrueThinker, for her insight and inspiration.**

_Obsession_

- _I_ -

She is always his. From the moment she opens her eyes, she is acknowledged by the name he has given her, proof that she belongs to him.

He controls her every move, her every step she takes. He sees himself in her. Things he has never accomplished in his youth are now avenged. She is born in his image, and her fidelity will always be sworn to him.

She is a Firebender, graced with the power to control the flames. Nothing brings her more pleasure then to see the sparks dancing around her fingertips, the tongues of flame wrapping themselves around her arms, and the heat rising and falling by her authority.

It is a gift. A gift not everyone is able to have, and she relishes being one of the few named masters of it.

Only _she_ is the one who is being controlled. He commands her, and she obeys. Like the fire she calls forth, so too she acts upon his jurisdiction. She cannot decide her own fate; she has no alternative. Everything she does is scrutinized beneath his critical eyes.

As time passes, she begins to eat less. It is her closure, her escape from the noose that is tightening steadily around her neck. Day by day, she takes measured sips of water, precise cuts of veal, and thin slices of fruit. She savors that he can never control this one aspect of her life. The pangs of hunger that carry late into the night become her reward, what spurs her on to continue. She gains a certain satisfaction in watching others devour their meals, while she restrains herself, no matter how much her body begs.

Food, or rather the abstinence of it, becomes more than just an act of rebellion. It becomes her _obsession_.


	2. II Illusions

_Illusions_

- _II_ -

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, until she can no longer recall when it is she hit upon the inspiration; but time is the true teller of events, and it leaves its indelible mark on her with each passing day.

Her hair, which is once the envy of every court woman, becomes thin and dull. Her skin tightens over the body like a fresh coat of wax, and her complexion is tinged a sickly pale yellow.

No one notices what is happening to her, for there is nothing the right shade of makeup cannot cover up, and for a while, everything remains hidden beneath the deceiving paint, until there comes a time when the sunken eyes can no longer be brightened artificially, nor the thin mouth glossed over to look more full.

Perhaps, were her mother still around, she would have taken charge of the situation; brought stability to a life that is rushing in a downwards spiral towards self-destruct, but that, too, is debatable, as her mother's eyes see only her son.

If the servants and guards notice anything amiss about the princess, they do not speak, for that which happens in the royal palace, remains in the royal palace.

Others take note; loyal citizens to the crown. The gossip and rumors drip down the grapevine like poisoned honey, flitting from home to home like tiny blazes on dry summer grass. None suspect the truth; all think it to be some sort of trend, and they admire beauty that isn't there.

Perhaps she is to be betrothed soon, they reason, and the simpletons urge their daughters to copy the princess's example. If they do, they may get lucky and catch the eye of a good suitor.

She is in control. With each day that passes, the verve in her eyes dim, until it ceases to exist. Her skin clings to the bones in such a way, that one clearly sees where the joints connect in her fingers. She can take the place of a corpse, one of the many that litter the dungeon floors, but every time she looks into the mirror, all she sees is her father looming above her, manipulating threads attached to her like a marionette.

Still the fire obeys her, and as long as she can control it, no one neither looks nor cares. They congratulate her on her achievements, on her talents, and the walls echo their empty words.

She is like a flame, they say, one that burns the brightest of them all; but like a flame that can flicker and die, so too, she falls prey to the grounds outside.


	3. III Epiphany

_Epiphany_

- _III_ -

She inhales the fragrant aroma as the cup is pressed against her dry lips. She tastes the sweet brew as it trickles down her throat and she wonders, fleetingly, when it is last she allowed herself a sip of water.

A familiar hand is holding the cup; she catches a whiff of something delicious in the air, and her mouth begins to salivate. Then her brows furrow together, and she sits up, forcibly pushing the help away.

Who is with her, she speculates, a servant, perhaps? She feels anger. She does not require any assistance; she is fully in control of herself and her actions. Just like the fire, her body heeds her commands.

It takes a few moments before a voice filters through her thoughts, and she makes out the sounds until they string together to form coherent words in her mind.

"…r…e…you okay? I was walking by when I saw you collapse."

She tightens her jaw. Collapse? Her? Never.

"I am fine."

He looks back at her, genuine concern shining in the golden depths. "Are you sure? Maybe you should see the healer."

"Everything's fine. I simply forgot to take a drink of water while training in the heat."

Dehydration. She commends herself on the cleverness of the excuse.

"Oh, so it's a good thing I was just coming back from Uncle's study. That's where I got the tea from." He explains.

She pays him no attention as she stands up to leave. Perhaps she ought to thank him, but her pride silences her voice.

"Are you positive you don't want to go the infirmary?" He questions again, peering at her face. He has not seen her this up-close in a long time, and it suddenly strikes him how thin and pale she has become. Her eyes no longer hold the life force he has come to know, and the smirk, which always lingers on the corner of her mouth, has wilted away like the rest of her. "You look sickly." He finishes.

"Mind your own business!" She snaps, irritated by his interference. "I'll go if I feel like going, now leave!"

He smiles; glad to see a glimmer of the girl he knows shining through. "Alright," he concedes, but not before pulling her into an embrace, for that is what brothers do when they sense one is needed.

She closes her eyes as he envelops her in his arms, and never does she recall being held quite like this. It unhinges something inside her, and brings up an emotion to her eyes that she can't, or _won't_ identify.

But then she opens her brown orbs a moment later, and when she speaks, it is in a voice that can be mistaken for that of her apathetic friend. "Are you done?"

He pulls away, eyes raking the features of a visage he knows well. Then he kisses her forehead, before letting go, and asks that she take care of herself while he goes away to fight in war.

She stands there, in the courtyard, long after he has taken his leave, and the sun has dipped beneath the majestic heavens. A wind blows sharply at her face, stinging her cheeks, and she contemplates; perhaps starvation does not come simply in the form of food.

_End._


End file.
